Thought Passwords

Woke up depressed and things didn't pick up much from there since my work computer booted up to a DHCP problem I don't have admin privileges to fix, and I managed to get things rigged so I could still do my programing (with great difficulty and limited speed), and also to convince everyone that I really do need admin privileges, but the person who can give me them was not in the office. And if when he comes into the office tomorrow he tries to tell me I don't need admin privileges, I am going to drive to Virginia, to his home, and I am going to sit in his pantry eating his food and acting rude to any pets or children he has until I get bored of it, because that sounds much better than continuing to use this computer without admin privileges.

(My retribution fantasies almost never involve shooting people or stealing lots of money; they're almost always stuff like "and I will put a key lock on the bathroom, and I will give everyone keys to the bathroom, but any time they have to use the bathroom they will have to remember their keys." My evil plans are very sharks-with-lasers, when it comes down to it.)

I am also still sick and sleeping badly, and I am taking lots of decongestants but still need a steady stream of whiskey in order to be able to breathe. This is probably viral and I bet it will take another two weeks to get over. Which might mean scuppering plans for a jaunt to New York this weekend. Bleh.

This past weekend very low key as a result of illness. Ciro saw Grinderman on Saturday, a side project of Nick Cave's, and I hung out with REL and her friends and played Rock Band, which is only superficially similar. Then I ate coq au vin and Ciro drank plum-based alcohol with a lot of rowdy Bulgarians. Which I would have enjoyed.

Sort of started to write a funny werewolf poem which may or may not be going anywhere, and toyed around with the idea of starting a news blog that updates once a week with whatever news story I found particularly interesting, since I spend a lot of time researching that stuff anyway. I also thought vaguely of starting various other projects, like a monthly short-form documentary, or certain photo projects, or getting back to doing more writing, or simply taking a month to get better at certain qualities I am having trouble with right now, like confidence and friendliness and self assurance.

But then of course I realize I still have to unpack, and paint, and register my car, and register to vote, and find Christmas presents for people, and touch base with the art museums that want me to touch base with them, and find places for the pieces of writing I've finished, and everything seems unbearably awful in a way I find it hard to explain, since on the surface it seems not awful, and even pleasant, and I see it is those things also.

I mailed off a partial MS of The Sifting Floor to the Hotel St. George Press, and I think they are terribly unlikely to publish it, because they publish almost nothing, and it's probably not unconventional enough for them, and it would be an extraordinarily small run if they did take it on. I practically sent it as a fan letter, just to say "hello, I like you," because the press is awfully quixotic and feels a bit like a venture I would put together.

I read the other day, I forget where, about a book (?) about a man who was blind and deaf and who did not acquire any sort of language until his thirties, and interviews with him talking about what it is like to think without having any language. My initial reaction was that I couldn't imagine what it would be like to think without language. Then I realized about half a minute later that I do know exactly what it is like to think without language, that I often think without language, and that I know this about myself and that it is as mystifying and frightening to the people close to me as the incomprehension and fear I first experienced when I encountered the idea of a person not-me who did not think in language.

I forget I do this when I am thinking in language -- and in fact the main reason I keep a journal is so that I can think in language, which is often necessary for me to be able to process emotions or apply logic to my thoughts -- because it is not something I am able to express in language. Or images. It's not anything at all except what it is. When it happens Ciro always asks me what I'm thinking and I just stare at him for a few minutes because I am trying to figure out a way to convey what I am thinking, but it is not words or feelings and does not fit into words at all. It is just blocks of thinks. Which is not very helpful.

When I try to convey it, I am just frustrated, and I prefer to do it in writing because then I can make several tries, and usually I have to get it wrong anyway. So I try to mostly think in language because it is easier and more social, and because it is a much better way to work out problems, only if I don't find quite the right language then I work out an answer to the wrong thing. It's horrible, really. I don't advocate it. But I am interested in what this man has to say, although I couldn't say whether his experience and mine are at all similar.

Asparagus

Did not manage to sleep at all last night; just lay in bed for eight hours. Made cream of asparagus soup for lunch, but instead of cream pureed potato (which is what I almost always do instead of cream in soups. Similar mouth feel, doesn't deaden the flavor like cream sometimes does.)

My computer problems are fixed not as a result of any action by me or company IT, but because Dad got home from out of town. Without him, we would never have solved it, and this is only partly because he best understands his own network. It is nice to have a very impressive dad, but it does make one slack off a bit.

I've been doing Hanon exercizes* now that I'm back near a piano. My finger strength is coming back very quickly, because all the fibers are still there, they've just been dormant. It's reassuring and a bit weird.

Acevedo and I spent much of the day debating our own discomfort with the game Call of Duty: Black Ops. Neither of us wants to get moralizing about it, but we also have trouble regarding realistic non-strategic military FPSes as fun, even though we're fans of plenty of violent games. So we were mulling this over throughout the hours without coming to firm conclusions. We work a very similar shift and often follow each other on programming, so we are sort of like deskmates even though we work from home two timezones apart. At the end of the day, he bought me and Ciro the videogame Braid as a housewarming present.

Otherwise, Ciro bought a new wardrobe from H&M since he had reached the point of no clothes without holes in them, and on his way home got entangled in the outrush of a Justin Beiber performance. Many excited preteens in North Station.

Mom and Dad got back from Virginia, where they participated in the 90th birthday celebration of my grandmother. Critical report: the layer cake included pudding and jam filling layers and was iced with chocolate ganache over frosting. It is very strange how completely Nana's food tastes deviate from the rest of my rather large extended family's.

* Which are apparently now experiencing a backlash from teachers who sort of miss the point of why one uses them. It's like saying to a football player "I don't need you to practice push ups. I need you to practice football."